My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…
Vance stopped dead in his tracks. The sheer, messy reality of the blood and my sudden, frantic breakdown repulsed him. He recoiled, his face twisting in utter disgust, pulling his expensive leather shoes away from the crimson droplets.
“Jesus Christ, you’re pathetic,” he spat, turning away to shield continue reading …
